Frame - extended version
by DeansBabyBird
Summary: I write in a drabble here on and some readers have been kind enough to suggest they'd like to see a longer version of some of the stories. So here is an extended version of Frame. Hope you enjoy it.


**Frame - Extended version**

**I write in a drabble challenge here on and some readers have suggested I might extend one or two of the 100 word drabbles. So here is the extended version of the challenge word Frame. This version starts with more or less the original drabble (_in italics_). Hope you enjoy it. **

_He lounged in the doorframe; feet crossed casually at the ankles, his scuffed boots filthy with mud. His head was tilted to the side, resting against the old, dry wood, his face betraying his exhaustion whilst in his hand he held a cracked mug, a curl of steam rising softly from the forgotten coffee towards his deeply contemplative face._

_The setting sun warmed him softly, tipping his hair with highlights of bronze and gold and the light lent an ethereal iridescence to his velvet green eyes._

_He sighed as the rain began and leaned forward to have the fat, wet drops blur his tears as they started, unbidden, to fall._

As I watch him I feel shamefully like a voyeur, prying into one of the scant few private moments he allows himself, but I am trapped for if I move he will see me and know that I have seen him. Seen him in this raw, unprotected state and I think I know how that will be for him. He will dig inside himself and wall off the fragile, sensitive man I see before me behind that nonchalant, quasi-shallow braggadocio he presents to the world.

And that would be a crime for I sense how desperately he needs this release and as I owe him so very much and have no real way to repay him, I sit on the lop-sided old porch swing, in the deepening darkness, and remain the guilty voyeur as he turns his face to the sky and sobs.

I know why he grieves. Well at least I think I do. But then as I dwell on it I realise that I actually know so little about him...them...w_hen I think about him, I think of the pair of them_...that I should more correctly say, maybe I know part of why he grieves.

He doesn't see the two he saved today and I suspect there are many others before who are also just shadows for him. He doesn't see them because his eyes are blinded to the redeemed by the intense, punishing images of the ones he could not save. Thus, he can take no pleasure in the joy of those who live because of him as the loss of those he could not save, rings with discordant dominance in his hardening heart.

The sun has all but gone now and I watch him tremble a little as the raindrops darken his thin t-shirt with splotches of grey and I shiver in sympathy in my secret hidey-hole. The movement I make is tiny but I have forgotten how very acute his sense of danger is and instantly his head snaps round and his wide eyes find me in my shameful darkness.

"Come out."

It is a growl, his voice hoarse and cracked from the excesses of the day and from his tears, but it demands, requires, forces obedience. I stand, and the porch seat swings on it's rusty fixings as I move into the waxing moonlight.

As he sees that it is only me the brutally effortless killer within him stands down and his lithe body relaxes in it's savage grace to be replaced by the embarrassment I did not want to engender. I stay where I am allowing him some safe distance as he self-consciously scrubs his hand down his face, wiping away the moisture there.

"I didn't think anyone was out here."

He speaks quietly, fatigue tinging his words as he walks toward me. The wooden planks of the veranda are old and weathered and I am taken by how little squeak and groan emanates from them despite the considerable weight his muscular frame places on them. I shift my own lesser bulk from foot to foot and hear the wood squeal it's protest and I smile, realizing I will never have his ninja skill set.

"What's funny?"

He is before me now, looking down into my blue eyes, gentle amusement on his face.

"It's silly..."

His gaze enfolds me, warm and safe.

"Tell me."

It's not a demand, he's just interested and, I think, it provides a distraction for what he sees in his mind's eye.

"It's just..."

I'm the embarrassed one now, worried he'll think me trivial, gauche...a fool!

"When you crossed the boards they didn't even squeak..."

It comes out all in a pink-cheeked rush and his eyes open wider as he speaks.

"Random!"

He looks back at the boards and then again to me.

"Yeah well, I used to watch 'Kung Fu' re-runs when I was a kid and the dude there learned to walk on that paper stuff without even breaking the surface."

He laughs at my 'I remember that show' squeal and gestures to the swing seat and we sit side by side on the lumpy old cushions.

The seat is small so we are close and his thigh presses against mine, warmly.

We sit in comfortable silence for a few moments as his longer-than-mine legs set the swing into gentle motion.

"How're ya holding up?"

His question slips softly from his lips but his head remains face forward looking into the darkness, seeing god knows what horrors.

"I'm..."

I hesitate, suddenly not sure how I am now I have been asked and he turns to look me in the eye. His stare is intent but not intimidating, though I understand how it can be. After today, what I have seen him do, I know it/he can be terrifying, but now his eyes are soft and caring and I know what to say in answer to his question.

"I'm okay."

He holds the gaze, his eyes checking mine and then he smiles and sighs softly, as a further notch of tension leaches from his body.

He pushes a worn-down heel against the planks and the seat swings back into gentle motion and we rock a little more. It's raining in earnest now but the veranda roof keeps most of it from reaching us; still it's getting cooler and I'm glad I'm wearing a sweater. I look at his arm where it brushes mine and his bronzed skin is goose-bumped between the old scars and fresh bruises.

"Are you cold?"

I ask him and he sees my glance at his arm and rubs his hand over his skin. I wonder what his scars feel like and where each one came from?

"A bit."

"Do you wanna go inside?"

He shakes his head, eyes on mine.

"Do you?"

"No."

And I don't. I want to stay here and know him a little more, but I wonder if he'll let me in? I know it's not something he does. Even though there's a lot in there that I think he wants and needs to share. I want to help him, to listen so he can unload but I don't know how to start so I just lean a little closer in to him and wait.

It doesn't take long.

"I hate it when...when we can't save them..."

He's looking into the darkness again and I know he's replaying the events of the day, seeing the face of the little boy who was lifeless and cold by the time it was over. His breathing has increased and I can feel tension returning to his body where he and I touch.

"You saved his brother and sister."

He glances at me and a ghost of a smile touches his lips but doesn't reach his eyes.

"Yeah..."

He whispers but I know even though he is glad that they are fine it doesn't heal the hole that each death tears in his heart.

"You can't save them all."

He looks away from me, down at his hands, still stained rusty red and the silver of the moon glistens off the tears brimming in his eyes.

"I...I...know..."

His breath hitches and my heart pounds in my chest.

"But..."

He looks up now, his devastated face finding mine as tears track through the dirt on his cheeks to drip from his chin.

"I...have...to try!"

I cannot bear his pain and I reach for him, and for a moment he tenses in my embrace. I expect him to pull away, to get sharply to his feet and pace into the darkness but he doesn't. It takes a second but he lets go and I feel his arms around me, holding me like I am the only thing that anchors him to sanity.

And we sit, hearing each other breath, feeling the beat of each other's heart as we await the return of the light.

Ends

**I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know if you have a moment.**


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